Soaring Scarlet
by AbbieNormal182
Summary: When an concerned girl saves an infamous pirate captain from drunkenly drowning in a puddle, she finds that she's gotten into more than she'd bargained for. JackOC. Rated T for some language, mild violence and implied adult themes. Post CotBP Pre DMC AME
1. How To Save a Life

General Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or anything affiliated with it.

**Soaring Scarlet**

"Now...bring me that horizon." Captain Jack Sparrow said, humming to himself as he steered his beloved ship, the Black Pearl. His humming turned into quiet singing as he ran his hands along the weathered wood that he had come to know and love so many years before. "And really bad eggs. Drink up me 'earties yo ho!" 

_Six months later..._

Well, he had certainly found his horizon, as stormy as it seemed at the moment. To onlookers (not that there were many, so close to midnight), the scene was strange. An odd-looking pirate had just been forcibly removed from a bar, flung into the street by a six-foot-four apparently angry man.

"You keep your bloody drunken hands offa m'wife!" The man roared, shaking a meaty fist at the pirate's prone body.

The accused was lying spread-eagle in the street, facedown in a puddle. The water vibrated slightly as the bartender slammed the door as hard as he could. The few people that were in the street watched; thinking that the pirate would roll over at any second now, and they could go along their ways, knowing that he wasn't going to die such a pathetic death, drowning in a puddle.

He didn't so much as twitch in the muddy water, the moonlight glinting and reflecting the nighttime scene. A dark-haired female that had happened by bustled into the street with a heavy sigh, her light skirts swirling silently about her feet. She knelt beside the pirate and with some difficulty and a small grunt of exertion, rolled him over out of the puddle. She put her hands on his chest to assure that he was indeed still breathing, and therefore not a lost cause.

"You don't hafta save 'em all, Bretta." A blonde prostitute called to the woman, sympathetically.

"But without them I'd get lonely." Bretta retorted sarcastically, tucking her wavy brown hair behind her ears, fingers brushing against the small silver hoops through the lobes. She stood, hooking her arms under the pirates, dragging him with difficulty over the cobblestones and down the street.

"Dammit." She cursed under her breath as she moved laboriously. "Damn heavy bastard." She wondered how lady-like she looked like at the moment, cursing and panting, dragging this enormous oaf of a man along the street.

When Bretta finally reached her destination, exhausted, she dropped the man. Just dropped him, plain and simple, his head hitting the stone with an audible thud that sounded an axe hitting rotten wood. She winced with regret, but pushed the solid wooden door open anyway. She turned, surveying the empty moonlit street from it. Other than the unconscious pirate lying motionless at her feet, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Bretta wondered if she had seen a shadow move across the street. She attempted to reassure herself that it had not, not feeling very reassured.

Looping her arms under the pirate's again, she dragged him backwards into the rustic stone building. _Why am I doing this again?_ Bretta asked herself silently as she pulled the damp pirate onto her small bed, and covered him with the thin blanket, the only blanket she had. She had been taking in drunk pirates for many years, ever since her mother died, letting them sleep off their drunkenness. Most were grateful; many gave her coins or trinkets. The others were somewhat hostile, and she let them go about their way without so much as a word. _This could very well be the one that kills me._

As if on cue, the ragged pirate's eyes snapped open wide, and he sat bolt upright. In one swift movement, so quick in fact that Bretta had no time to react, he was up from the bed, pinning her against the wall with his body.

"Ah love, you've gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle now, haven't you?" The pirate said, one hand flat against the wall by her head, the other at her throat, but not yet pushing hard enough to cut her air supply off. His body was flat against hers, although he stood at least a foot taller than her and she could feel his heat emanating through both their clothes.

"P-p-p…" Bretta stuttered, her eyes still wide with shock. He'd been impossibly quick, and it seemed more than a coincidence that he'd awoken the moment she'd thought about him harming her. He was uncomfortably close to her, his nose brushing hers, and for a moment she wondered if he would try to kiss her. Her fingers swept across the stone of the wall as she clenched her hands in an attempt to soothe her panic.

"Oh goodie, I love this game." The man said, flashing her a happy grin, the gold on his teeth glinting cheerily in the candlelight. "Let's see…could it be park?"

Bretta shook her head, temporarily struck dumb by this unorthodox pirate. _What kind of pirate likes to play word games?_ She wondered as she looked into his dark eyes, and one hand moved automatically to his side; perhaps an attempt to push him away.

"Hmmm…" He thought out loud, a mischievous look on his face, and she know that he already knew what she was trying to say, but she was too shocked to say what she needed to. "Parsley? Parsnips?" He guessed again, watching her carefully with mischievously narrowed eyes.

"Par…par…" Bretta took a deep breath to calm her beating heart, for it was beating so loud she could hardly hear the man in front of her. Probably it was fear, but it might have also been the proximity of the man in front of her. "Parley."

"There you go, love." The pirate said, giving her another playful grin. He stroked his fingertips along the skin on the side of her throat as he removed his hand. He angled his body away from hers, releasing her in order to examine her. She brought her hand to her throat, even though he had not hurt her, and touched the skin that his fingers had brushed against so softly. "That wasn't so difficult, now was it?"

Bretta didn't answer him, still pressed up against the wall, decidedly apprehensive. She took this momentary chance to study the pirate. He had strings of beads throughout his thick black hair that was mostly swept back with a dirty scarlet bandana, and two small braids that swung carelessly under his chin. His dark eyes were rimmed with what was presumably black kohl, making them the most predominant feature when he wasn't smiling. However, when he did smile, his teeth sparkled with the afore-noticed gold. His clothes were that which one expect to find on a pirate; black pants and boots, a dirty white shirt, a blue vest, and a red-and-white sash. All in all, he was very attractive, which Bretta found alarming. She found very few men attractive after the murder of her mother, least of all pirates. Regardless, there was something about the man that she recognized, although she'd never seen him before. Instead, she felt as if his appearance was something that she'd heard about, but she couldn't quite remember who he was.

"Love?" He asked, his eyebrows drawing together a bit over his unique eyes in impatience. "You have any notion of answerin' me?" 

"It wasn't my intention, no, sir." Bretta said, choosing her words carefully, having recovered enough to say that much, at least. She had decided as she examined him and scrutinized his eccentric behaviour and appearance that he was most likely harmless, although it wouldn't hurt to be cautious anyway.

She neatly sidestepped him to pick up the discarded blanket, folding it and returning it to the bed. His face turned downward in a slightly more sober look. "Why did you bring me here?" He asked, sounded truly curious. Bretta supposed that it was a peculiar thing, a woman alone, bringing an unconscious pirate to her home.

Bretta looked at the pirate straight on and told him without missing a beat. "I brought you here because if I hadn't, you would've died." That was the truth, and that's all he was going to get, the scoundrel. He wasn't to know that she had saved dozens of men from certain (or at least probable) death simply because it eased the pain and guilt she felt of her mother's premature death.

"Not many would do that, but all right. It's your own life, I guess. A mite dangerous though, I think you'd agree." The pirate said amiably, seeming to have no great concern for the answer. He scratched the top of his head for a moment in a perplexed manner. "Now back to the subject on hand. Parley's an interestin' word, ain't it love? Means I'm s'pposed to take ye to my captain, don't it?"

Bretta remained silent, turning to face him again, well aware of the danger posed by getting aboard a pirate ship, even with the parley as a safety precaution. Pirates were not well-known for fighting fair, metaphorically. More than a few people had been pressed into service under the unfair twisting of words during a parley, and she didn't know if she could keep her wits about her well enough to avoid such a fate.

He ignored her lack of response, and showed her his gold teeth again, bouncing on the balls of his feet in hilarity. "That's funny. D'you want t'know why?"

Bretta noticed that he was a very animated speaker, moving his hands about a lot as he talked, in addition to changing his stance, leaning forward and then back, and tilting his head every which way. It served, she presumed, to confuse people. They would watch his hands and his body more than they would listen to what he was saying, and therefore, they were more likely to absently agree with whatever he did happen to say. She also vaguely recognized this trait, and she knew that the name and story of this pirate resided somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind.

"It's funny because I am th'captain, love." He grinned widely, obviously amused, having finally gotten to the punch line of his own personal joke.

"Good." Bretta said hopefully, suddenly spurred into motion towards the door. "Excellent. That means that we can wrap up here quickly, and you can leave a bit sooner. You know, now that you're up and about." There was something about this man that intrigued Bretta; something that she had never before seen in a man… However, she knew that she didn't want him to stick around so she could find out what it was. That would simply be too dangerous for her own good. Before she could get to the door though, the pirate reached out as swift as a cat and snagged her wrist, pulling her back towards him. Locking one muscular arm about her waist to keep her against him, he tilted his head down to talk to her.

"I don't think so. In fact, I don't think I'm leavin' anytime soon." The pirate captain said softly, his lips brushing unintentionally against her ear. She could feel his breath on the side her neck and she wanted to shiver, partly from the tendril of fear making its way up her spine and partly from the unknowing caress, but she refrained. Instead she stared fixedly at an imaginary spot on the wall, in an attempt to save whatever dignity she still possessed.

"Now that th'captain of th'Black Pearl's got you," the pirate said, still speaking as softly as was possible without it becoming a whisper. "You might as well start negotiatin'."

Bretta gasped involuntarily in sudden recognition, and wrenched away from him with all her strength. He yielded reluctantly, and released her from his grasp.

"You're Captain Jack Sparrow!" Bretta said breathlessly, having finally truly recognized the man in front of her.


	2. Pattern Recognition

**Soaring Scarlet: Chapter Two**

Captain Jack Sparrow felt a moment of elation, of pure triumph in the wake of his true title being spoken. Long overdue triumph, if anyone bothered to ask him (which no one ever _did_ ask him, come to think of it). Finally, someone had gotten his title right. He was a bloody captain, dammit, and deserved to be called such, instead of 'Mister Sparrow', or 'Jack Sparrow', or even the too-familiar 'Jack'. It was simple respect for his accomplishments, that was all, and he felt he deserved it.

"At your service, love." He said cordially with a broad, happy grin, one hand already reaching for his hat out of politeness, to give a sweeping bow. However, he was left fruitlessly patting a hat-less head.

"Where the bloody hell is me hat?" He roared, a far cry from the soft voice in which he'd been tormenting the girl with. The poor girl across the room jumped and looked as if she would fly right out of her knickers… although come to think of it, that might be okay… Never mind. There wasn't time. His hat was missing after all. His was a drunken rage, but not too drunk. It hadn't been the rum that had knocked him out; it had been the huge fist coming down on the back of his head like a hammer to an anvil. Now that he thought of it, he was going to have one hell one headache once the rum was out of his system.

"D'you have it?" Jack demanded wondering if she had taken it from him when she'd somehow managed to flop him down on the small bed, and when she shook her head timidly, he began pacing. "You have any idea what that hat means to me, lass?" Jack paused for a moment of thought and reflection. "Not as much as me ship, mind you, but still. A hell of a lot. Now...where did I leave it?" By now Jack was talking solely to himself, practically ignoring the girl. He tended to do that a lot, and he wasn't sure why. He really should pay more attention to his surroundings.

The girl now straightened up, still pressed against the far wall. "Perhaps you left it in the tavern?" She suggested quietly, motioning slightly in the direction of the door with one hand, sort of in a shooing motion that Jack found oddly endearing. Poor girl.

Jack stopped his drunken pacing, and looked at her warily. She was watching him with a look in her eyes he couldn't quite decipher, even though he was usually exceedingly good at reading people. Her dark chestnut hair was about her shoulders, a strand or two falling into her face, shading her dark gray eyes and Jack noticed that she was really quite pretty. Very pretty, actually. What a man could do with lips like those… Then he gave his head a shake, to dislodge the thought, but as it happened, it ended up coursing through his entire intoxicated body, turning into a full-blown shudder. He'd do well to leave as soon as possible, and forget her forever and ever and ever. He didn't want this to turn into another she-was-so-pretty-that-I-just-couldn't-help-myself fiasco that had gotten him into trouble with women (more poignantly, the women's men) before.

"Mayhap." Jack mused, settling himself down comfortably on the small bed he had risen from a few minutes previous, and tucked one leg under the other. He reached out and fiddled with a loose thread from the now-folded, thin blanket she had laid over him to offer some semblance of warmth; a vaguely caring, motherly gesture that Jack didn't care to speculate about at the moment. "That presents a problem, doesn't it love?" He looked up at her.

"Stop calling me that." She told him with a slightly defiant scowl. She moved to the small table across the relatively unfurnished room from the bed, and used an all ready burning candle to light a previously extinguished one. She placed on the candle on the dirty window ledge that framed an equally dirty window.

"What should I call you then?" Jack asked promptly, with a bit of a silly grin on his face. He wasn't sure what it was about the term 'love' that got women so riled up. Too familiar, maybe. He didn't know, but he thought it was bloody hilarious.

"Lena." She answered after a long moment, looking down at her hands. He grinned again, more in agreement than amusement, showing his teeth.

"Lena, Lena." He said, getting used to the feel of it in his mouth. An interesting name, not one that he had ever heard before. "Wait a second." A thought struck him as he said this, and he wondered why it had even taken him those few seconds to realize it. The girl was lying to him. Just to shake her up again, as he was finding that he so loved to do (she was like a little bird, nervous and flighty), one of his hands shot out and he yanked her down onto the bed across from him. "Your name's not Lena." He told her; a statement, rather than a question. "You almost snockered me into that one, darlin'." He leaned back against the wall again, feeling quite pleased with himself.

The girl claiming to be 'Lena' shot him a sickly sweet smile of sheer annoyance. "Almost." She agreed in a snotty tone of voice. Then she sighed. "My name's Bretta."

"Bretta." Jack said, mimicking his earlier repetition of her name, knowing that she wasn't lying this time. "S'that short for anything, love?"

"No," She answered curtly. "Just Bretta. And stop calling me that."

Jack's tanned hand was still wrapped around her relatively light lower arm, and when he noticed her distinct discomfort, he immediately let her go. He always tried to be aware of what made other people uncomfortable. Usually so he could exploit it, of course, but this girl had done nothing to warrant that just yet, so he would rather her be comfortable. She sort of scrunched herself to one side of the bed more than he thought would be possible, and it was all Jack could do not to laugh. Instead of laughing however, he (graciously, he thought) moved to a different subject.

"So Bretta, where exactly are we?" Jack asked, not only as a topic shift, but also as a positive step towards getting his hat back. He would have to backtrack to the tavern. It wasn't as if he could leave without his hat. That would practically be blasphemy!

"In relativity to the tavern, I presume?" Bretta asked, watching him with a careful look in her eyes, that of a trapped and defeated animal that knows the possibility of escape could not be too far off. "A couple of streets to the north."

Jack narrowed his eyes at her, as he gave a bit of drunken thought to her statement. "How'd you know where I wanted t'go?" He asked, eyeing her suspiciously, the paranoia brought about by his affinity to drink, and his notoriously bad short-term memory for things that he didn't necessarily deem important.

The girl shrugged and smiled a little at his confusion. "Well, you wanted to get your hat back, and that's probably where it is."

"All right then, let's go!" Jack said, grinning back at her shy smile that seemed something like an offering of amiability, jumping up with a bit of a bounce. The explanation was easily accepted. He wasn't really that suspicious of her intentions in the first place; she didn't seem like the suspicious type.

Bretta again got that cautious look in her eyes, so different from the smile she'd given him mere moments before, and part of him regretting saying anything at all. "Go where?" She asked slowly.

"The tavern of course!" Jack told her enthusiastically, grabbing her hands and pulling her to her feet. She came reluctantly, but she stood nonetheless.

"Why do I have to go?" She asked, sounding somewhat like a petulant child, as Jack blew out the candles, casting them into relative darkness. The only light in the small room was the moonlight shining through the filthy windowpanes. The things he could do to her in the dark… He discarded the thought again, as unimportant and more of a hindrance than anything that could be reality. Something about this girl made him think that she was not to be trifled with in that sense.

"Because love," Jack explained patiently, pulling the door open and shoving Bretta out the doorway with a hand at the small of her back. "The tavernkeeper didn't like me playin' footsies with his lass at all, so you'll have t'go in and get my hat for me, savvy?"

"Oh, oh, I don't...I don't think that's a good idea." Bretta told him sounding flustered and suddenly anxious, trying to backtrack towards the doorway and the relative safety of her tiny room.

Jack wondered why women always proved to be stubborn about little things like that; taking a walk, as it were. But instead of starting an argument with her, he let his eyes narrow and turn as cold and hard as stone, as he had learned was useful over the years. "Oh I think you are, love. I think you'll do exactly as I tell you."

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Bretta barely stifled a heartfelt curse when Jack rested one strong, tanned hand on his pistol. He had no idea what he was doing. "I can't. You don't understand. I can't go in there. The tavern keeper will kill me." He gave her a look that told her to stop stalling, so she nodded, completely exasperated with the man. How obnoxious he was, with his pirate dialect, and his stupid manly weapons.

Jack stepped from the building, accepting her defeat graciously and without any undue fuss, and closed the door behind himself in an oddly thoughtful gesture. They walked without talking for a few minutes, the only sounds in the otherwise silent streets the muffled thuds of Jack's boots against the rough stone and the occasional soft rasp of cloth against cloth.

Bretta noticed Jack giving her sideways glances every now and then, but she steadfastedly ignored him. Just because he was absolutely infuriating didn't mean that she had to pay any attention to him. He stayed silent for a few minutes more before blurting out "Aren't you wearin' any shoes?"

Bretta looked up with surprise at the question. "No. Why?" She'd never worn shoes, even as a child. At first, her mother had been too poor to buy any shoes for her small, but growing daughter, and then as Bretta got older, she had simply gotten used to walking over the roughest surfaces without shoes. Callouses had built up and when she finally bought a pair of shoes, she found that she lost all sensitivity to the ground below her. With shoes, she often became unbalanced, even dizzy. So, no shoes.

"Don't your feet get cold, love? I mean, Bretta." He asked, his eyebrows knitting together in a perplexed manner.

Bretta smiled, amused at his apparently concerned question, and the way he'd tried to remember to call her Bretta, not 'love'. The infamous Captain Jack Sparrow sounding worried about her feet getting cold. That thought was good for a laugh or two. "No. I don't need them. I never have. I need to feel the earth beneath my feet."

"Huh." Jack said, dropping the subject as suddenly as he had brought it up as they stopped in front of the tavern. He surveyed the building with a look of distaste upon his face, his upper lip curling slightly, as if he were looking at something truly disgusting. "Okay love, this'll be nice 'n simple if you do what I tell you."

"Right." she said in a slightly sarcastic tone, crossing her arms over her breasts, and watched him expectantly. Maybe he would actually come up with a plan that wouldn't get her killed… but probably not. She didn't think it sensible to hold out much hope.

Jack looked at her with an unusual expression, then began outlining his plan, demonstrating with his ever-moving hands. "Ah-right, here's how it goes. You and I waltz in like a couple of happy little bluebirds, tweetin' and the whole bit. I expect them to be eating cookies, and they'll ask us what we want. You sing (in opera, of course) 'Captain Sparrow's hat.' They quiver in fear at the fearsome sound of me name, and your stunning vocal talents, as we do a quick polka, as a final blow. They'll give us me hat, we take the cookies (for proper nourishment, obviously), and find a back door, still on with the tweetin' and chirpin', only this time like canaries." Jack paused for a moment to take a breath. "Close your mouth, love, you'll swallow a bug."

Bretta snapped her mouth shut, not having realized that it was open. Was he insane? Was he even serious, at all? "So...so that's your plan, is it?" Bretta asked, completely nonplussed. She'd saddled herself with a lunatic.

Jack winked jauntily at her and grinned, his gold teeth glinting in the moonlight. "No, of course not. I'm not crazy. I don't know how t'waltz."

Bretta could do nothing but roll her eyes at him in absolute disbelief, and he laughed at her, a low rich sound. Suddenly, Bretta was aware that she had goosebumps all up her arms, but not because it was cold. Something about him…

"C'mon, love." He said with laughter still filling his voice, shaking her from her reverie. "I'm not certifiably insane, if that's what you're wonderin'. I do have a plan. You go in, get me hat, come back out, and give it to me. Then I'll take you home and disappear, leaving you to your ordinary everyday activities, savvy?"

"No!" Bretta exploded, a long way from how amiable she had felt only moments before. "I'm not going in there! Your hat be damned! I am not going to die over some stupid hat."

Jack exhaled in an exaggerated sigh of impatience laced with a heavy sprinkling of amusement. Then with no further ado, he pulled out his pistol and aimed it right between her eyes, cocking it with an audible 'click'. "Please, love? It's really not a big deal. I don't really feel like shootin' you over this, and if you just go in there, you ain't going t'die. I honestly need my hat before I go."

"Ugh." Bretta groaned. She turned and looked at the building with a sense of trepidation. "You bastard. I hope that when I'm dead, you'll feel a smidgen of regret." She shot over her shoulder at him as she marched up to the tavern door. Opening it, she slipped inside, quiet as a mouse. Maybe she would be able to blend in with the crowd and retrieve Jack's hat without making a scene. But then again… maybe not.

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Jack watched her disappear into the tavern, the very picture of despondency. He would have to think about that some. Why, oh why was it such a big deal to go into a bar and ask for a hat? Who would kill her for picking up a lost item? He didn't know, but as soon as Bretta got back with his hat, he intended to find out. The pirate waited patiently for the girl to reappear, counting the drops of water falling from the shingled roof. When he had reached two hundred and forty drops, he heard the beginnings of a scream that was abruptly cut off.

"Bretta?" He muttered in the vague confusion of the somewhat drunk, and made his way into the building to investigate. Pushing the solid wooden door open to the smoky interior, Jack pulled his pistol out again, just in case, of course. It never hurt to be prepared for the worst. He stepped inside, and the scene before him made his instincts go haywire. He suddenly didn't feel drunk anymore. "Bugger."

"Let her go mate, and we'll all be better for it." Jack said gravely, raising the pistol to sight it. He was far more alert than he had been all evening, the danger to the girl who had saved his life evident. The bartender, who had previously thrown Jack into the street, had Bretta in the air, one brawny hand wrapped about her slender throat. Her feet were kicking feebly by now, and her hands were clutching without avail at the man's, trying to free herself. Her face was that horrible shade of purple that Jack had seen on more than one occasion, although this time it was particularly disturbing.

The man glanced over to see the barrel of the pistol pointed at him, and promptly dropped Bretta. She fell, just barely gasping, to the floor, her legs crumpling under her. She laid quite still then, and Jack cursed himself that he hadn't just gone in with her. What was wrong with these people? This was supposed to be a friendly little port to have a drink in… and now this!

"Mate, th'girl was just in here to get my hat for me. You didn't have t'take such drastic measures. It's just a hat." Jack said, the hand with the pistol in it steady as a proverbial rock; the other hand gesturing wildly as was his custom. The man stared back at him in sullen silence, as if Jack had broken his favourite toy. "Now fetch me hat for me, like a well-behaved lad." Jack figured he might as well toss a little humiliation in there for good measure, after having been thrown from the tavern in such a discomfiting manner.

The bartender reached across and under the counter and grabbed Jack's hat. He tossed it, and Jack caught it with his free hand, plopping it on his head, almost sighing audibly with the relief of having the familiar weight on his head again. He had to remind himself to remember the girl, almost having forgotten her. He owed her this much at least. Jack made his way carefully over to where she lay motionless, and checked to see if she was still alive. He picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder, just about like a sack of potatoes. He clamped one arm about her legs, just above the knee. If she had been awake, he knew she would have had a screaming fit over the whole ordeal. Jack let a wicked grin come over his features… she wasn't awake, of course…

Enough wasting time, though. Jack touched his hat with the tip of his pistol with a wink. "Good day, kind sir. I imagine the redcoats are on their way by now, so I'll just be scampering off." For Jack had indeed noticed the bartender's wife leaving out the back, presumably running to get the night watchmen. With that last statement, Jack turned and shot out of the building into the street like an arrow from a bow. Turning left, he caught sight of four of the port town's finest coming that way, so he wheeled around in a wide arc, the girl almost slipping from his shoulder, and dashed off down the darkened street. "Fast little buggers." He muttered to himself.

"Hey!" One man yelled from behind him, obviously out of breath. "Jack Sparrow! Stop on pain of death!"

"Captain!" Jack corrected the man at the top of his lungs as he ran wildly. "Captain Jack Sparrow!" Jack turned into an alleyway, and, weaving through the streets of the port town, he finally lost his pursuers. He headed towards the docks, shifting Bretta's weight on his shoulder. As the Black Pearl came into view, he grinned to himself. He'd had a nice visit; he'd have to come back again sometime.

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A/N: Thanks for the reviews (as those of you who have reviewed already know, I have been replying to them as they come). I hope this chapter is as well-liked as the first.

-Abby-


	3. Cold Feet

**Soaring Scarlet : Chapter Three**

Bretta slowly opened her already aching eyes to the invasive sunlight, rolled over, and promptly threw up into the bucket that was conveniently placed beside her. "Yuck." She muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of one shaking hand. She rolled over again and stared at the ceiling, feeling fairly awful. Then she realized that the ceiling she was looking at wasn't the ceiling she was used to.

"Oh my God." She breathed, levering herself up slowly onto her elbows and looking around warily, trepidation in her every move. The room was small, completely hardwood, with a desk on one side, right under the window. Sunlight was streaming through the grimy glass, shining brightly onto the small bed that Bretta was sitting on.

"Oh damn." She said loudly, then winced at the loud noise reverberating inside her head like a pot that's been hit with a spoon. She felt hung over, but she knew she couldn't be. When was the last time she'd had a drop to drink? Many months ago, at any rate. Sliding off of the bed, memories of the night before came flooding back to her. She'd almost been strangled to death. She could feel the smooth wood, cool against her bare feet. "Where am I?" She whispered in quiet alarm.

Crossing unsteadily to the door, Bretta recognized she all ready knew where she was. A ship. The Black Pearl, to be specific. That was the only place she could possibly be. Placing a hand on the worn latch for the door, she twisted and pulled the door open. The sun was even brighter in contrast to the relative dim light of the cabin, and she had to squint as her eyes slowly adjusted to it. Her head ached terribly and all she wanted to do was lay down and sleep again for a million years, but she couldn't. Not now that she was on the Pearl. She stepped from the doorway, pulling the wooden door shut behind her, out of habit's sake, although it was probably nothing to be concerned about. It was a ship, after all.

A man walked by her, pretending that he wasn't staring, keeping his eyes on her all the while. He was an older man, grizzled and white-haired, every inch a sea-faring pirate. She was about to stop him, ask him... what? She didn't know, she was feeling a mite dizzy, and still not sure why she was on the ship. But he was muttering to himself something about "Bad luck, bad luck…", so she didn't stop him.

"Sorry 'bout him, love." Bretta heard from behind her. She whirled around unevenly to see the captain of the ship himself leaning against the door she had just exited. He gave her a jaunty grin, the gold of his teeth glinting in the sunlight. She had to admit, his hat _was_ quite dashing. "First Mate Gibbs. He thinks everything is bad luck, but I wouldn't worry. The crew of the Pearl have nothin' but good luck, as I'm sure you know."

Bretta wondered if he thought the whole Isla de Muerta fiasco was a stroke of good luck. Yes, she knew the legend of the Black Pearl, there were few that didn't. She kept the question to herself, however. There were more important things to be discussed. "Captain Sparrow," She began in a voice that she knew simply dripped with malice. She wasn't particularly hopeful that she could intimidate him, but she could at least try. "You seem like a reasonable sort." Well, no, he didn't actually, but it seemed like a good thing to say. "If I turn around, and cannot see land from where I'm standing, you and I are going to be having a serious conflict, do you understand?"

"O'course I understand." He said, acting offended, straightening up from the dorrway indignantly. "I'm not stupid, y'know." He scratched his chin thoughtfully, mussing the hair that resided there and sending the small braids swaying. "All though, I would've said 'savvy'."

Bretta ignored him, and spun around slowly on one heel, staring out into the huge blue sea that was topped by the huge blue sky. "Where's the bloody land, Captain?" She asked through gritted teeth. She hadn't been lying. She was going to have a fit if there wasn't land.

Jack strolled up to the railing beside her with a sway to his walk that kind of reminded her of a prostitute. He squinted, then shaded his eyes with his hand. "Hmmm." There was a long moment of silence. Then he pointed, with the grin of a child that's found something pretty to show his mother. "See that little smudge in th'distance?"

"Yes, I see it." Bretta said, peering hopefully at the blur.

"That's not land." He told her happily. "That's a storm cloud."

Bretta felt her hands clench into fists of their own volition, and she actually had to concentrate to keep from punching the pirate captain where he stood, regardless of the fact that he was bigger than her and could probably kill her with his bare hands. She was absolutely furious with this idiot. And of course, he was still smiling. "Captain Sparrow, you need to return me to Montserrat, now." Bretta told him. All she could think about was the fact that they were in the middle of the ocean, and she didn't know how to swim. Not a good skill to lack when on a ship, she knew, and the thought was beginning to paralyze her.

"Oh, love, sorry about that, no can do." Jack said, shrugging in an apologetic manner. "We're half way to Guadeloupe by now, pretty town, good place to pilfer. You slept a good long while."

Bretta's dizziness began to overwhelm her, a combination of the splitting headache she had, and the realization that she would probably die on this ship, whether from the pirates themselves, or the water that threatening to swallow the ship herself, and all of her contents. There was clanging in her ears that was growing steadily louder, and her vision was beginning to blur. She felt herself slipping into unconsciousness, and grabbed the rail to steady herself, leaning heavily on it. "Help..." She managed to mumble from numb lips before she succumbed to the darkness that was encroaching on the space around her, and unceremoniously tumbled over the side.

----------

Jack leaned as far over the edge as he could, watching Bretta as her limp body hit the water with a splash and sank under. Since he'd already had a considerable amount to drink that day, he wondered if maybe she meant to swim home. That didn't really seem feasible to him even in his drunken state, and after a few moments when she didn't surface, he whipped off his beloved hat and tossed it backwards, diving over the side after her in a graceful arc. The water was cool and refreshing on the brilliantly sunny day, but he ignored that, swimming deep enough to hook one arm around the girl's slender waist. Rising quickly to the top, Jack gave himself a moment to ponder the girl's tendency to pass out, and whether or not it was a regular occurrence. He didn't want to keep saving her every time he turned around, it would become tiresome.

As he broke the surface and took a deep breath, using his free hand to push the girl's head against his shoulder so she wouldn't drown, he heard one of his crew members yell "Man over board!" at the top of their lungs. Jack winced at the screechy quality, and figured the speaker to be Cotton's parrot.

The pirate captain treaded water patiently for a few minutes, with Bretta's head still resting against his shoulder, clasping her tightly to his torso. There was no flurried activity on the ship, and Jack got bored with the whole affair. Actually, he got bored quite often, so this wasn't terribly uncommon. He sidestroked over to the ship, and readjusted his grip on the girl. Taking hold of a thick rope, he hauled himself and Bretta upwards, let go and quickly grabbed the rope again higher up. Climbing the rigging of a ship one-handed wasn't exactly easy, but he eventually made it to the top.

When he had made it over the railing (hauling the girl with him like a rag doll), he stared murderously around for a member of his crew, but none were within eye range, either a testament to their brains or their work ethic. He would go with the former. He had somehow managed to put together the only pirate crew in the world without a work ethic. The saying "no prey, no pay" hadn't penetrated their thick skulls yet. Lazy pirates aside, he laid Bretta gently down on the ship's abandoned floorboards making sure that her head didn't hit the deck too hard (the complete opposite as she had originally treated him, unbeknownst to Jack), and whacked her somewhat forcefully with the side of his hand, right between her breasts. She started coughing and gasping, and rolled over onto her side, spitting up water.

Convinced that she would make a full recovery from her death wish, Jack flopped wearily onto his back beside her, arms and legs stretched out to accept the warmth of the Caribbean sunlight. His father had once saved his life in that exact manner, when Jack was about eight years old. Jack was now glad for that experience, because it now meant that he had saved Bretta's life. She was… something. He didn't know what she was. He felt a certain affection for the lass already, but he didn't know why. She had finished coughing by now, and rolled over onto her back, lying there in much the same position as Jack. "Thanks." She said breathlessly with a bit of a rasp from the saltwater burn, pushing her wet hair out of her face.

"Not a problem, Bretta, m'lass. Happens quite frequently." Jack said airily, propping himself up on one elbow so he could see her, not sure if 'lass' was better than 'love' or not. He could never tell with women, each one had a preference. He frowned suddenly, noticing the angry purple bruises on her throat for the first time. Reaching out a tanned hand, he splayed it lightly across her throat, barely touching her, but in the outline of the finger shaped marks. Such ugly marks marring her skin. For an unknown reason, looking at them made him furious at the man who caused them. He should've shot him dead when he had the chance. Actually, he found that he regretted not killing people more than he really should (Hector Barbossa being a prime example, among others).

She flinched slightly and tensed, but held still for him nonetheless, her eyebrows knitting together slightly. Her stormy gray eyes locked with his, for what couldn't have been more than a second, but what felt like hours. He was pulled into her identity through her eyes, and he garnered more about her in that moment than he had since he'd met her. She was a passionate woman, he saw that much at least. Her lips parted slightly, and he finally wrenched his gaze away from hers, shifting back to the bruises. He pulled his hand away from her throat, sitting up as he did so.

"Fancy set of bruises you have there." He said, trying to lighten the mood a bit, trying to forget the moment of synchronization they had shared.

"Yes, I realize that, Captain." Bretta said dryly as she sat up. Jack figured she might be defensive for the same reason he was uncomfortable. That sort of moment didn't happen every day, and it made him nervous. "That's what happens when you almost get choked to death by a madman."

"Well, it certainly seems that you're feeling absolute loads better." Jack replied, levering himself to his feet. He held out a hand to help her up. Bretta placed her hand in his, and he hauled her to her feet, ignoring the feel of her skin against his. What was wrong with him? Not that Bretta wasn't a beautiful woman (that alone would usually be enough for him to attempt to seduce her), she was just… different, and different wasn't always good. He turned and went back to the helm of the Pearl, pondering the dilemma of where to drop the girl. She apparently had a way of getting to him, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

"So are you going to take me home now?" Bretta asked, and he looked down at her, her eyes hopeful. After a moment of hesitation he decided against taking the helm as he originally intended. He dropped down to her level again with a catlike motion, and angled his lean body back against the wooden doors of the main cabin, his dark hair once again shading his equally dark eyes.

"No love, I already told you that." Jack said patiently, having reached a decision. He was a busy man. "It'll have t'wait until the next time we stop in Montserrat." He shrugged with one shoulder. "I would've left you there, but that group of bloody stupid soldiers were after me (us, rather) for pulling that stunt in the tavern, and if I'd left you in the tavern… well, I'm sure you understand."

"I can't stay here." Bretta sank down onto her haunches, wrapping her arms around her knees, looking particularly forlorn. Or scared. Jack couldn't figure out which. But he immediately felt sorry for her, an odd trait for a pirate, he knew, but what about him _wasn't_ odd? He knew full well that he was an anomaly, and preferred it to stay that way. The less people knew of the true Jack Sparrow, the better.

In light of that, he took a step forward and knelt in front of her. "What's wrong Bretta? Tell Jack. He'll make it better." Jack said with a wink and a grin. He couldn't pretend to be serious. She looked almost comical sitting there with a sad puppy dog look on her face. It was quite endearing.

"You can't make this better, Captain Sparrow." Bretta told him, staring at the floorboards.

"Why?" Jack asked softly, suddenly understanding that the girl was truly troubled. "You have a man back home looking for you now?" That was all he could come up with. He'd see the place she called home, and it wasn't much.

Bretta smiled at that one, looking up at him. It struck Jack that this was the first time he had seen her smile to the fullest extent. "No." She told him. "That's ridiculous." Jack didn't think it was ridiculous. He thought it was a damn good question. but he let it go when her smile faded. "I'm not joking, Captain. I can't stay on this ship. When we reach Guadeloupe, I'm staying there."

Jack opened his mouth to ask why, but he caught a slight movement in his peripheral vision and turned his head so quick that his neck made a cracking noise.Most of his crew standing conspicuously off to one side shuffling their feet, trying their hardest to eavesdrop and probably doing a fine job of it. The captain rose to his feet quickly, dark eyes flashing with ire at their laziness. "What're you scaberous bilgerats think you're doin'? This ain't a holiday cruise, mates, best get back to work and I mean _now_."

A small black woman stepped forward and threw her hair over her shoulder defiantly. "We're just wonderin' about th'girl." Anamaria said. Jack raised an eyebrow haughtily, waiting for the respect that was deserved to him by his crew. "Captain." She added a little sullenly after a moment.

"Her name is Bretta, and I'm afraid we've kidnapped her." Jack announced, spreading his hands wide with merriment and rocking back on his heels. He heard a small squeak of indignation from behind himself. Glancing back, he saw Bretta standing there with a furious look on her face and her hands on her hips.

"You stupid son of a pirate, good for nothing, bloody bastard." She said, loud and clear. Apparently kidnapping wasn't a good choice of words.

"Oh, come off it, love." He told her, while secretly impressed by her ability to string insults together. "You're hardly a prisoner." He turned to Anamaria again. "Darlin' would you mind finding the lass a set of clothes that she can actually put t'use on a pirate ship? The dress style went out when Mary Read began to sail." The female pirate nodded, her curiosity about the newcomer satisfied. This was the way of her captain, mad as it may be.

"Excellent." Jack said and clapped his hands, and strode off immediately, leaving Bretta in the capable hands of his longtime friend Ana, scooping up his hat as he went. He would see the girl later, he thought as he closed the door to his cabin. He chuckled as he pulled his wet shirt over his head, thinking of the look on her face when he'd used the word 'kidnapped'. Priceless.

**-------- **

Thanks for much for all the reviews, they're wonderful! Like I said, I'm replying to them individually. :-D Hope this suits everyone's fancy.

Abby


	4. The Lass Faints a Lot

**Soaring Scarlet: Chapter Four**

Bretta swallowed nervously noticing the collective glares of the pirate crew. "Um... hello." she said meekly. The woman who had questioned Jack about Bretta's appearance took a step forward, and Bretta promptly took a step back, and found herself right up against the smooth wood of the door.

"I ain't gonna 'urt you." The woman said impatiently shaking her head. Then, unexpectedly, she offered her hand as a greeting. Bretta took it cautiously, and shook, noting the callouses of it, and knew that she was as much a part of the crew as Jack himself. "Me name's Anamaria." The small woman said. "And ye're soakin' wet. Let's get ye some real clothes."

So Bretta followed her to a little private cabin, obviously private because Ana was the only woman on the crew, and the diminutive woman found her some spare clothes, and left her to change.

Bretta set the small pile of neatly folded clothing down on the cot against the wall, and, grasping the bottom hem of her simple dress, pulled it off over her head. Next came her bodice, and then she was shivering and naked in the middle of the windowless cabin, with only a candle to light it.

"Oh God, what am I doing here?" Bretta said outloud, aware of the miserable tone to her voice, and just how pathetic she sounded. She hated it, but she couldn't help it.. She pulled Anamaria's spare clothing on quickly, examining them critically as she went.

There was a long sleeved white shirt, a bit dirty, and a lot too big. The shirt was so big that it billowed around her wrists. It took Bretta a few moments to realize that 'billowy' was the way it was supposed to be. The pants were a bit dirtier, but also a bit smaller. Not small enough, however, to stay on her slender frame and not fall down. Bretta looked around for something to help solve this problem, and her gray eyes fell upon her discarded but quickly drying dress. She picked it up, and carefully ripped a big chunk off the bottom. Tying the blue fabric around her waist, she effectively created a belt for herself. Bretta ripped another strip from her dress, much thinner this time. She tied this around her hair, keeping it out of her face. Then, when she couldn't think of how else to stall, she folded the remainder of her dress, and left it by the small cot.

She stepped tentatively towards the door, not sure if she really wanted to venture back out onto the deck, but before she could reach it, it was opened forcibly. Bretta didn't quite manage to stifle a shriek as a dirty hand latched onto her arm and pulled her out into the sunlight.

She took in the scene quickly as she was pulled against a man's chest. From her vantage point, she could see most of the Pearl's crew, being held in place by various pieces of weaponry across the main deck. Anamaria was struggling with all her might against the arms of a pirate twice her size, obviously to no avail. As Bretta realized that the Pearl had been boarded by opposing pirates and that she hadn't even heard a peep of noise, the man holding her said "Cap'n Connaught, I found this'n in th'cabin."

Bretta glanced up to the helm, and gasped involuntarily, trying to stifle it. The man was the biggest human being she had ever seen. He must have been six and a half feet tall, and probably weighed as much as the Pearl itself, but that weight wasn't fat. It was pure muscle. She knew this man, and hoped to God that he wouldn't recognize her. If he did… she knew how it would end. She hoped like hell he wasn't here for what she thought he was.

"Good." The man growled in an impossibly low voice, not bothering to even glance at her, for which she was supremely grateful. "Where's Sparrow?"

"We've got 'im Cap'n." A skinny pirate said, marching Jack forward at sword point. "Should we kill 'im?"

"Let's not be hasty, lads." Jack said cheerfully, as if he were talking about what a fine day it was to go fishing. "I'm sure that you 'n I can talk about this, Connaught." Jack reached up and tapped the brim of his hat, in a bit of a salute. Bretta wondered what he thought he was up to. Robert Connaught was not one to negotiate with.

"I'm sure we can, Sparrow." The huge man said amiably, hopping lightly down from the helm; much lighter than would be expected from a man of his size. "Where's the map to Inis Foghlaí Mara?"

Bretta felt a strong shiver of fear, but kept herself from trembling with sheer force of will. This couldn't be possible; it had to be a dream. Bretta knew an awful lot about Inis Foghlaí Mara; more than she would ever want admit to anyone. It was a little island in the middle of nowhere, named "Pirate Island" in Irish Gaelic, rumoured to be haunted by ghosts of dead pirates.. Bretta knew better. Inis Foghlaí Mara was the treasure horde of three generations of the crew of the infamous Gruagach, captained by a man by the name of Frederick O'Flaherty and his sons. Bretta's mother had been almost obsessed with the place; a suitable hobby for a mapmaker like herself.

"Haven't found it yet." Jack dismissed the question with a flick of a hand and a lazy catlike grin. "Anything else?"

"If anyone has it, you do. Where is it?" The larger captain said, stepping close enough to Jack that he could most likely feel the man's breath on his face. To Jack's credit, he didn't even tense, which must've been difficult. Bretta squirmed a bit in the thick arms of the pirate detaining her.

"Don't be an idiot. He don't 'ave it." Anamaria veritably spat from behind him, and he spun around to face her.

"And you do?" He asked, dangerously soft. Bretta knew from experience that when he was quiet like that… well, it was somewhat of a foreshadowing of danger.

"No." Ana said defiantly, thrusting her chin out rebelliously. "But I know where it 'tis."

"And I suppose you'll be leading me to it, hmmm, lass? Connaught asked, the beginnings of a perilous smile playing about his lips. "Let her go." He ordered the man holding her.

"I've conditions." Anamaria said shaking free of the man's arms, placing her hands on her hips. It was obvious she meant to seem strong, not like other women.

"Oh stop it, Anamaria." Jack told her, as if he were chastising a child for lying, sidling smoothly up beside her. "You don't know where it is. Otherwise we would've been looking already." Jack looked at her smugly, as if his logic was irrefutable.

"I don't tell you everything, Sparrow." Anamaria sneered at him with apparent derision, and Connaught cut in before they could begin to bicker.

"Children, chilren, don't fight." He smiled, a false twist of his mouth, and turned to Anamaria again. "I'll be happy to comply with your 'conditions', little lady, whatever they may be." Jack dithered a little on the sidelines, looking disgruntled at being shushed like a child.

The small woman scowled at him, an expression of utter distaste on her finely featured face. "First, don't call me 'little lady'. Second, ye're to leave the entire crew of the Black Pearl, on the Black Pearl, unharmed."

"Besides you, correct?" Connaught asked, but Bretta knew it wasn't really a question. She again noted how well spoken the big man was. He didn't have a trace of a pirate's accent; instead, a perfect British inflection. He'd worked hard at that, she knew, being a native of Ireland.

"Yeah, yeah." Ana said impatiently. "Third, I want me own cabin, and no one, neither ye or yer crew are gonna touch me, undastand?"

"I do." Connaught nodded gravely, as if this was the most important thing in the world. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. Once ye got yer treasure, ye'll let me go. Alive. In a port of my choosing." Ana specified, remembering what had happened to William Turner when he failed to stipulate the means of Elizabeth Swann's release from Barbossa's crew.

"Sounds fair." Connaught said, sticking out a massive hand, an oddly amiable gesture. "Do we have an accord?"

"Aye." Ana agreed quickly, matching his grip with her own.

Bretta was in a state of shock, so the next ten minutes or so went by in a blur of colour and noise. Connaught and his crew of miscreants removed most of the valuables onboard (they were pirates after all) and transferred them to their ship, The Bloody Temptation. Just before they cast off from the Pearl, the Connaught made _his_ conditions known. "I find out that you are following me, Sparrow, and I kill the lass."

"Be that as it were," Jack began, weaving his hands back and forth, but the huge man grunted in impatience and backhanded him, quick as a lightening bolt. The force of the blow was enough to knock Jack back half a dozen paces, hitting the mast dead on and sliding to the floor. He lay slumped limply against the water and weather worn wood, a trickle of blood slowly running from the corner of his mouth.

Bretta cursed in sympathy under her breath, but couldn't go to him until the Temptation had made sail. She didn't want to attract any attention to herself. Jack had stood up on his own by the time she got to him, with a hand to his face, muttering incoherently and wobbling back and forth. He turned to her with a waver, and mumbled something about not deserving that, but she ignored him.

"What are we going to do?" She asked him with urgency lacing her voice. This was of utmost importance, she knew. Ana could not stay on that ship, or she would die, as surely as the sun rises and sets.

"What?" Jack asked, looking at her incredulously, his face screwed up into confusion. "What d'you mean, what are we gonna do? I thought I was droppin' you in Guadeloupe in a fortnight's time."

"Well, yes. Of course." Bretta stammered, suddenly nervous, not sure how to get her point across without divulging too much about herself. "I suppose so. But I thought... I thought you would go to save Anamaria. After all, she is part of your crew."

"Not a chance, love." Jack scoffed at her derisively. "If Ana wants to keep secrets like that from her own captain, so be it. She can fend fer herself."

Bretta found herself growing irrationally angry at this stupid man that continued to see things the wrong way. "Captain Sparrow, if you do not go after that woman, she will die! And it will be on _your_ hands, because you didn't have the brains or guts to save her!" Bretta exploded, shouting at him.

"How d'you know, lass?" Jack shouted right back at her. It was clear he wasn't going to accept her advice without some form of proof. Hellfire, that was the last thing she wanted to give him.

"Because she doesn't know where the map is!" She yelled, her tone matching his.

"She said she did!" Jack bellowed, sounding for all the world that he truly believed that all people were good and none would ever lie, cheat, or steal.

"She's lying to save you and your damned ship!" Bretta screamed, throwing her hands in the air, exasperated with the man.

Suddenly Jack quieted down, stopped yelling, as if nothing had ever happened. He leaned infinitesimally closer to her (practically impossible, since by then they were almost nose to nose, screaming at the top of their lungs). "What d'you mean, she lied?"

"There's only one person that's still alive that knows where the map to Inis Foghlaí Mara is." Bretta told him. She regretted the words immediately after they had left her lips. She never meant to take it this far. No one was ever supposed to know.

Jack stared at her for a long moment, then grabbed her arm, forcibly dragging her into his cabin, and shutting the door. Evidently, he didn't want the rest of his crew to hear what she was about to say. Then, with one word, the infamous pirate captain demanded that she reveal the secret that she had been hiding since she turned ten. "Who?" Jack asked her seriously, watching her carefully, eyes narrowed.

Bretta sighed heavily. _No escaping anymore,_ she told herself.

"Me."

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Oh, and thank you to my wonderful reviewers. As I've said, I'm responding individually, but thank you to Pixie and PhoenixAngel11, who were both anonymous. :- )

-Abby-


	5. Inis Foghlaí Mara

A/N: Just for those of you who read a lot of POTC fanfiction, you will note in this chapter that the type and location of Bretta's tattoo is eerily similar to that in one or more other stories. My apologies. I wrote this story back just after the first movie came out, posted it, and I'm replacing it with this heavily edited version. I've decided not the change her tattoo, because it's such a fabulous scene. I give my regards to those of you who have also written stories with this plot point. I thought it was rather brilliant, if I do say so myself. :-P

**Soaring Scarlet: Chapter Five**

Jack was pretty sure that he was mimicking a fish, mouth moving soundlessly, but he just couldn't help it. He sank slowly to a sitting position onto his small cot. This girl knew where the map to the legendary Inis Foghlaí Mara was. Jack knew everything there was to be known about the island of Inis Foghlaí Mara. His father, Ryan, had been completely obsessed with the place, and as a result, so was Jack. Ryan and Jack had sat together many nights, plotting, planning, discovering, and theorizing about what lay in wait on the island. Most myths of the place spoke of the ghosts of dead pirates. Jack had thought that was supernatural nonsense, but after his exploits with Barbossa and his crew of the undead, his eyes were beginning to open the possibility of ghosts. Ryan had eventually put all of their research together, in a book, which he gave to Jack. Jack kept the book under a loose floorboard in his cabin. Once, Ryan had confided in Jack that he was attempting to draw an accurate map, with the help of a mapmaker. Ryan now lived in Shipwreck Cove and his estranged son hadn't seen him in years. No fault of Ryan's. Jack was the poster child of independence. Regardless, Jack always regretted that he had never seen that map… 

"Y-you?" Jack finally stuttered, blinking his eyes in disbelief. He snorted a little. "That's ridiculous." 

Bretta's eyes flared brightly with anger and her mouth twisted slightly. "Fine, Captain Sparrow. If you think it's ridiculous, so be it. I'm keeping the location a secret." 

"Ooh-oh-oh, no, no love." Jack hastily tried to make amends. He couldn't lose this map because of his blasted big mouth. It was much too important. Lives of work, in fact. "What I meant, is that, well, the map, my rum, parrots... hmm..." He trailed off, staring into space, having lost his train of thought completely. He did that quite often. 

"What you mean Captain," Bretta said smoothly. "Is that you're terribly sorry for calling me ridiculous, and you'll now grovel before me to actually get a chance to see the map. Right?"

"Right-o." Jack agreed wholeheartedly. "What you said. Absolutely. Observe my groveling." He gave his best 'I'm-so-sorry' look and hoped it would work. 

"Hmmm." Bretta made an indecisive sound and crossed her arms over her breasts looking particularly bored with him, and Jack panicked. 

"Honestly, Bretta love, I'm groveling. Please." Jack said, clasping his hands in his lap in an innocent manner, and gazing at her earnestly from where he was sitting on the bed. 

She looked sternly at him for another moment, then finally grinned, giving into his pathetic act. "You're not very good at it, you know." 

He nodded in total agreement, relieved that she was more amiable now. He hated this whole honestly-asking-questions thing. He found it much easier to simply manipulate people and be done with it. Sure, his schemes had gotten him into trouble in the past, but it had always worked out just fine. Trouble was, with the answer to one of his life's pursuits being so apparently near, he couldn't figure out how to manipulate the situation in his favour. "I know. Mostly, I never have to. Mostly, people just give me what I want. Comes with being a pirate. Territory, and all. I'm sure you know how it 'tis." 

Bretta just shook her head in apparent amusement, her dark hair moving slightly, as if pushed by a soft breeze. Then she turned her back on him, and started to pull her shirt up a bit. The relatively light skin of her lower back was beginning to show, the barely distinguishable swelling of her spine a testament to her slenderness. "What're you doing love?" Jack asked, with what he hoped was a charming grin. "If you wanted to do that kind of stuff, you should've just asked." He knew that it was a bit far-fetched, but he could never help it. 

"Egotistical bastard." He thought he heard Bretta mutter, but he wasn't sure, because her back was turned. He relied on seeing people and the shape of their mouths when they talked, to discern particular words, something that he disliked about himself but found hard to change. She pulled the shirt over her head in a fluid motion, her chestnut hair streaming down her back. She swept her hair over her shoulder, and Jack's eyes widened in absolute shock. 

However, this was not simply because she was disrobing in front of him, but because of what was on her back. It… was a map. A beautifully rendered tattoo of a map that stretched from her just above her shoulder blades, to the small of her back. 

As if in a trance, Jack slowly rose to his feet, practically against his will. Tracing a finger softly over the dark tattoo that branded the beautiful young woman in front of him, oblivious to feel of her skin, he had to ask… "Where'd you get this, love?" 

Bretta felt Jack trail his fingertips across the smooth skin of her back and almost shivered at the soft caress. How could she tell him where she got the tattoo? It had been hard enough even _showing_ it to him. She'd kept this secret for many years. "What if I don't tell you?" She asked, clutching the dirty white shirt to her chest in a feeble attempt to maintain her composure. She felt a little weak in the knees at the exposure of what she'd been hiding for so long. She had hidden it under strict orders from her mother. There was something on that island that no one should ever know about. 

"Then I carve th'tattoo from your back, and toss you overboard." He told her with a deep chuckle. She knew he was trying to be funny and charming and all the things she already knew Jack Sparrow to be, but it didn't help much. She was far too nervous. So nervous in fact that she was beginning to take deeper breaths, just to calm herself. 

"Really?" She asked, knowing exactly how pathetic she sounded. 

Jack's hand that had been tracing the outlines of the map stilled on her back, his palm now flat against her skin just above the tip of her shoulder blade. "No." He said, obviously concerned with her lack of humour in the situation. "I was kidding, love. I'm rather sure I know where you got it." 

"Then why did you ask?" Bretta said, getting irrationally irritated with him. It wasn't his fault this was so difficult for her. But dammit, why did _he_ have to be so difficult all the time? 

"Just wanted to make sure, darlin'." Jack said smoothly, obviously ignoring her sudden hostility. With a slight rustling of cloth on cloth and a creak of the floorboards, she heard the pirate captain settle himself down on the small bed.. 

Bretta carefully pulled the shirt back over her head, trying not to show Jack anything that he ought not to see, and turned to face him. "So where did I get it, Captain Sparrow, if you think you know?"

"Your father." He said, lounging against the wall of the cabin, pulling his hat off with one hand, and reaching under the bed with the other. He produced a half-full bottle of rum, and waved it triumphantly at her, pleased as punch with his reasoning. "He was a mapmaker, yes?" 

"No." She told him, with a bit of an arrogant smirk. He automatically assumed it was her father. Men. Honestly. They were all fundamentally the same. "You're wrong, Captain. My father had nothing to do with my tattoo." 

"Hmm." Jack said and his mouth twitched slightly. He looked very down-heartened at her declaration, his eyebrows furrowing together. Not for very long, however, because he pulled the cork from the rum bottle with his golden teeth, and took a long draught of the heavy liquor. "That does put somewhat of a damper on my original assumption then." 

"Think about it, Captain." Bretta encouraged, cocking an eyebrow at him, mocking his apparent inability to see past gender. "If my _father_ wasn't a mapmaker, who was?" 

Jack sat silently for a few moments, apparently thinking, his eye flicking back and forth. He moved his mouth as if he were talking, but no sound emerged. Then, "I have no idea." 

"Good Lord, Captain Sparrow, you just aren't very bright, are you?" Bretta said shaking her head in disgust. Did he not get this? Would she have to spell it out for him? It was embarrassing. 

"Sometimes." He agreed, nodding so emphatically that the beads in his hair flew wildly through the air. "But I make up for it with me looks, don't you agree?" He took another swig of rum, dribbling a little down his chin. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked at her intently. 

Apparently he hadn't gotten himself into enough trouble the other night due to his more than obvious drinking problem. She rolled her eyes. She'd been doing that a lot lately, and it was beginning to hurt. "My mother, Captain Sparrow. My mother was a mapmaker. Mapmakers don't have to be men, you know." 

Jack's kohl-rimmed eyes widened suddenly and he sat up ramrod straight, jumping up from the bed as if it had turned to hot coals. He was spitting rum everywhere. "Oh damn, it was your mother?" He looked her as if it was the worst news he had every heard, and that seemed strange to Bretta. 

"Yes." Bretta said warily, wiping a few droplets of rum off of her cheek with her sleeve, not sure what was wrong with this revelation. "Is that a problem?"

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Thanks to all my reviewers (including Kirsty, who was anonymous).

The pronunciations and meaning of the Irish Gaelic words in the last chapter are as follows.

**Inis Foghlaí Mara**: in-ish fow-lee mah-ruh. Literally, Pirate Island.

**Gruagach**: grew-ah-gawk. Hairy goblin. (Sorry to my one reviewer, I got that wrong when I replied to you).

Abby


	6. The Way Men Get

**Soaring Scarlet: Chapter Six**

"That dirty rotten scurvy son of a bitch." Jack spat furiously through tightly clenched teeth. "Yes! That is a problem!" He told Bretta, smashing the half-empty rum bottle down of the floor. The shards of glass flew every which way, and he regretted the action momentarily until he realized that Bretta's bare feet hadn't been cut by the explosion.

"Why?" She asked, looking only mildly interested at his violent outburst. She had replaced her shirt, much to Jack's disgust. She really was a pretty little thing, and although he hadn't bothered acknowledged it at the time, she had lovely skin. She was now sitting in the chair at his desk, looking completely relaxed; more relaxed than he'd seen her so far. Apparently the expulsion of such a tremendous secret had calming effects.

"My father worked with her." He muttered, almost under his breath. He loved his father as a son should, but for God's sake, he'd made some bad decisions.

"Oh, oh!" Bretta said, suddenly alert and waving her hands, and he knew she understood why he was so angry. "Your father? That was him? My mother was sleeping with him."

"I know." Jack gave her a look that betrayed his surprise at the revelation. Odd that the girl would know of her mother's lover. "How d'you?"

"How do I know? She told me about it." Bretta laughed softly and shook a stray strand of hair from her face. "Your father was an extremely handsome man."

"He was married." Jack said quietly, the pain of hearing his parents fight constantly in his voice against his will. His mother refused to leave him until the day she died, but it ate her up inside that she didn't seem to be enough for the man she loved. "My mother was a wonderful woman."

"Sorry, Captain Sparrow." Bretta told him kindly. "Men get like that sometimes."

Jack blew out a sigh of airy frustration at bygone events. He knew all about how men got. He was a man. "It's all in the past now, no sense in rehashing, I suppose. How old were you when you got that tattoo?"

"Ten years old." Bretta said, with a confident incline of her head. "Our parents worked on the map for many years before then. They felt that they needed a place to put the completed copy that would remain a secret. So they asked me. I agreed. I would've done anything for my mother."

"Where's your mother now?" Jack asked, curious. He considered this an incredible coincidence that out of the clear blue sky, he would meet the daughter of the woman who had destroyed his parents. He held no grudge, however, for it wasn't Bretta's fault that his father was a total idiot.

Bretta paused for a moment, then took a deep breath as if mentally preparing herself. "She's dead. My father killed her just after I turned thirteen."

"Oh, Bretta love, I'm sorry. That's terrible." Jack said, really meaning it. The death of a parent was bad enough without one hurting the other intentionally. "Who's yer father?" He wasn't sure why he was asking; it didn't really matter. He just found himself curious about this girl and her history, since it was so obviously intertwined with his.

Bretta grinned suddenly, a look of dawning comprehension crossed with amusement on her face. "You mean you haven't realized?"

"No." Jack said slowly, unsure of how he would've known who her father was. As much as he occasionally liked to pretend, he wasn't clairvoyant. "Should I?"

"Well, you just met him, Captain, I would've thought for sure you would have worked it out." She leaned back a bit farther in her chair, clearly pleased as punch with herself.

"Oh, the man at the bar, right, love? That's why he was trying to kill you." Jack said, thinking that he was catching on. If he'd killed her mother, it would've made sense that he'd want to kill her too. He was so damn smart, he sometimes surprised himself.

"No." Bretta said, giving him a funny, vaguely condescending look. "He wanted to kill me, because I killed his dog a year ago. The damn thing was about to bite one of my hands off, so I shot it. He's an unforgiving man… eye for an eye sort of thing."

"Oh." Jack was a little confused. More than a little confused. This whole ugly day had been one enormous puzzle. He had many questions, mostly concerning how Connaught had found him, and how his crew had entered the Pearl without anyone noticing. Probably no one was in the crow's nest again, just like usual. The problem was the work ethic of his crew. If only he was one that keelhauled people for messing about… They'd soon learn. "Who's it then?"

"Why is Captain Robert Connaught of the Bloody Temptation so interested in the map to Inis Foghlaí Mara?" Bretta asked him with a sly grin.

"No!" Jack said, his eyes going wide at her knowledge of the man. "That's ridiculous!"

"Not ridiculous." Bretta shook her head at him in what seemed like impatience now. "Improbable, yes. Impossible, no." 

Jack got up from the bed, prowling the room in restlessness, watching her the entire time. "Connaught's your father?" He had a hard time believing that. He'd known Connaught for many years, and he'd given no sign that he had a family of any kind (not that he was a family sort of man). However, Bretta's mother being murdered by her husband made all sorts of sense now.

"Yes." Bretta told him, locking gazes with him. He believed her now. Just as he'd known that she had lied about her name the first time he asked, he knew now that she wasn't lying about this.

"Why didn't he recognize you?" He figured it was a good question. Fathers tend to recognize their children, regardless of the state of the relationship.

Bretta shrugged. "It's been years. The last time he saw me, I was eight years old, at the oldest. When he killed my mother, I was hiding behind a stack of crates. He didn't see me then, otherwise he would've killed me too."

There was a double knock on the cabin door, interrupting their conversation. Jack pulled it open to reveal his first mate, Gibbs standing there, obviously uncomfortable at the intrusion, wringing his hat in his hands. "Cap'n, what should the crew be doin, if'n ye don't mind me askin'?" He said, squinting into the dimness of the cabin.

"Good question, sah." Jack said, gesturing for Bretta to leave the cabin. She did, and Jack followed, watching her brown hair sway. Turning back to Mr. Gibbs, he grinned, a little bit like a lunatic, he knew. "Follow them."

'But Cap'n, they said they'd kill Ana if we follered." Mr. Gibbs said, scratching his head in confusion.

Jack was still grinning. "Then we'll do it real quiet like."

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**A/N: **Thank you to all of my reviewers. I didn't keep up on thanking people individually, and now I've forgotten who I've talked to. So thank you, and as an apology, you all get a weekend pass to The Mounted Animal Nature Trail. You'll love it. :-P

Abby


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